Petitioner
by Winnychan
Summary: Leo called his quest a mid-life crisis. Donatello doesn't know if that is true, but it's too late to turn back now. He has crossed the galaxy and sacrificed everything to be with her. Starving and penniless, Don waits with the other petitioners for an audience with the queen who is his best chance – maybe even his last chance – at living happily ever after. A Jhannatello romance.
1. Prologue

**Genre:** Epic Romance  
 **Pairing:** Jhannatello  
 **Warnings:** None!  
 **Timeline:** This takes place in the future when Donatello is in his thirties, well past the events of Influence and the Talk. Those fics are NOT required reading, however. The story stands on its own just fine.

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

" _This_ is what you and Raph have been doing in Northampton?" Leonardo stared in dismay at the alien ship, which they had somehow dredged from the lake. It had been HER ship, that blue-skinned Amazonian queen's. She had crash landed into their lives so many years ago that Leo could not even recall her name.

"It's better than I could have hoped for," Donatello went on explaining with a feverish gleam that lit up his whole face. He was looking at the partially repaired ship with pride, oblivious to the pain written across Leonardo's face. "The coordinates to her planet are pre-programmed into the ship's computer."

"I thought this was about another relapse," Leonardo said too sharply. He hated his tone as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late to recall what he had said.

Donatello's eyes shot up to meet his, wide with hurt. "No. I'm clean, Leo. I've been clean for years."

"You just–" Leonardo floundered, gesturing with his hands. "Lately, you've seemed so –"

"Happy?" Don suggested.

"Manic," Leo corrected.

"I _have_ been excited," the other turtle acknowledged with a catch in his voice, looking away quickly. "For the first time in – in _ages_. I just..." He trailed off miserably.

"I'm sorry," Leo sighed in frustration.

"Would you really prefer that?" Donatello persisted bitterly.

"To you leaving?" Leonardo shot back. "That's what you're talking about, isn't it? You're leaving!"

Donatello just looked at him, at a loss for words.

"No," Leo insisted severely, shaking his head. "Of course I wouldn't prefer that. I just. You told me… you said it would be a long time! Before you ever…"

"That was six years ago, Leo," Don pointed out.

"Six years isn't – that isn't a lot of time!"

Donatello reached out and put his hands on Leonardo's shoulders. He felt the tension held there slowly sapping away. Leo's hard, muscular shoulders had been rigid and unyielding, but now they slumped in defeat.

"What in the world are you going to tell Mikey?" Leo wondered harshly, his face turned sharply aside. "He'll be devastated."

"Mikey's resilient," Don explained calmly. "And optimistic by nature. To be honest, I was a lot more worried about you."

"It's just," Leo whispered roughly. He folded his arms across his chest and looked with sorrow across the wind-rippled water. "What will we do without you? What will I…"

His throat closed and his face contorted. Donatello pulled him into a fierce embrace.

Leonardo buried his beak in the crook of his brother's neck and growled, "This is about April! Don't you tell me that it isn't!"

"April," Donatello tried to explain with a sharp twinge, that old, familiar pain which he had been unable to banish for the better part of decade, " _April Jones_ doesn't need me to be happy. And I've been miserable for years. It's _time_ , Leo. I need this." He pulled away enough to look at Leonardo, forcing his brother's gaze. "It's time for me to chase a different dream."


	2. Part 1

**PART ONE**

Don leaned his head back against the large traveling pack stashed behind him. It made for a rather dubious and lumpy cushion, but that didn't matter – he couldn't afford to sleep deeply, anyway. Twice now, opportunistic pickpockets had attempted to rob him after he had nodded off. Both times he'd managed to stop the would-be thieves before they could make off with any of his precious supplies. Everything he owned was stowed behind him – every single item necessary and chosen with great care. The thought of losing a single one of his meager possessions was completely unacceptable. Donatello closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the midday heat of the twin suns beating down on his face. He had been camped out with the other petitioners for five days.

He spent the first few days extremely frustrated with his lot, pacing and seething with impatience. So infuriating, to have traveled millions of light years to find her, having traded away all the essential parts of his ship and scrapped the gutted hull in exchange for enough currency to buy passage to the capital… only to be stopped and made to wait within sight of the palace gates!

Now at last, Donatello had found something like serenity. After the two and a half years he spent cruising to the Circinus Galaxy, inactivity and stillness were nothing new to the turtle. He told himself that even though he wasn't moving forward at the moment, he was still getting closer every day to seeing her again.

Don's eyes fluttered open at a rumble of approaching wheels. A sleek vehicle was rumbling up the queen's road. Decorated guards were pouring out of the twin spires on either side of the gate, ready to keep the rag-tag petitioners in their place and ensure the important figure safe entry.

Donatello scrambled to his feet a little too quickly. Vertigo made him stagger and lift his arms for balance. "Is that…" he squinted at the luxury transport and had to cup his eyes to see past the glare of the suns reflecting off the glossy finish. "Is that _her?_ " he wondered with awe. He wasn't the only one with that idea, apparently. A chorus of excited murmurs rose from the commoners, and some were leaving the line to fling desperate appeals to the curved, mirrored windows. A thin, shouting man was punished with the butt of a spear for daring to lay a hand on the glass.

"Stay, friend," rumbled the genial voice of his neighbor in line, a large yellow-skinned foreigner with bulging jowls and quivering appendages that dangled from his jaw line. He settled his folded arms across his generous belly and gave Don a close-lipped smile. "That is a Lady of the Lower Council only. Don't lose your place in line again. Come. Sit." He slapped the dusty ground beside him with a meaty palm, sending up a small cloud of reddish dust.

The bright balloon of hope that had been expanding in Don's chest deflated quickly. Even so, he was grateful for the warning. No one who left the line for any unauthorized reason was allowed to keep his or her place. Even using the public toilets at the guard house was a highly regulated procedure. Many people were not so kind as this one, and would love nothing more than to see him ejected from his place in line on a technicality. Several already had tried to trick him into leaving his place with bribes or false appeals for assistance. After the first day he had wised up.

He sat unsteadily, causing his neighbor's bushy brows to lift in concern. "You're not ill, are you?" he wondered with a preemptive lean in the opposite direction.

"I'm fine," Donatello sighed, scrubbing at his damp brow with his knuckles. "Just tired and overheated."

The friendly alien straightened but did not look entirely convinced. "I have not seen you eat today," he observed gently.

That was true enough. Donatello had not eaten in several days. His food supplies were dangerously low and he was trying to ration what remained. "I'm fine," he said again, more stiffly, even though the turn of the conversation was making his mouth water with longing for the remaining half of a protein bar that was stashed away in his pack.

The fat yellow creature made a clicking noise that somehow managed to convey gentle reprimand. "You seem a decent sort. You did not even harm those _schallamezza_ who tried to rob you, though it was well within your right by local law."

"They were kids," Donatello grimaced, looking away. "And they were probably just hungry. I'm not going to beat up hungry kids."

The alien rocked his head, the fleshy appendages bobbing in time with the gesture. "A fine outlook. So let me see what I can spare for you." He rolled smoothly to his feet with an unexpected agility that reminded Don of Leo's mystic sensei, the Ancient One.

Donatello felt his pride flare but bit his tongue to keep from refusing the generous offer. He _was_ growing weak with hunger. "I don't have anything left to trade," he felt obliged to point out. "At least, nothing anyone here seems to value."

"No matter. My people believe that good deeds bring good fortune. Perhaps helping you will bring me luck with the queen."

"Oh. Like karma?" Don suggested.

"Pardon? That word doesn't translate," the yellow man gestured at the universal translator half buried by his multiple chins and cocked his head curiously.

"Luck in exchange for good deeds. Karma. It's basically the same concept," he attempted to explain.

The foreigner shrugged indifferently, now more focused on rooting through his wagon of belongings. He came up with a large jar of what looked like dirt. Rich black loam, not the dusty red-colored soil native to this land. Don blinked in confusion, trying hard not to look as discouraged as he felt.

Uncapping the jar, the alien rooted around and finally came up with a… well, Don wasn't sure _what_ it was exactly. It was too large and too pink to be a grub, but that's what it most resembled.

"Ah ha! Look, he's a big one. I have been saving him. Still fresh, see?" The alien gave the larva a squeeze to demonstrate, causing its little legs to squirm and its bulbous tail to curl reflexively.

Already a somewhat picky eater, Donatello widened his eyes. His empty gut twisted sharply with revulsion. "Yep, that, uh…" He swallowed hard and agreed, "That thing looks pretty alive, all right."

The alien tore the head off the grub and stripped the tiny legs off, tossing both into the gutter in front of them. He sat back down beside Donatello and held out the thorax and abdomen. "There! Have you ever seen a finer _rulbuo_ than this fellow?"

"No," Don confirmed weakly. "I… honestly haven't."

He wanted to refuse. His brain wanted him to refuse _so badly_. But at just that moment, his stomach made a compelling counterpoint in the form of a loud and unhappy burble. And the beaming yellow man looked so damn _proud_ of his giant pink grub.

Donatello stared, frozen, unable to make himself take the offering.

By now the man had noticed his extreme hesitation. "You don't have them on –" he squinted at Don and shrugged again. "You don't have them where you're from? Very nutritious. Good crunch! You'll see." He pressed the decapitated grub into Donatello's hands and smiled encouragingly.

 _It's protein_ ,Donatello assured himself frantically. _Protein, that's all it is. You need protein. And that's what this is. Protein and nutrients, yay!_ He slapped the grub into his mouth and began to chew quickly, before he could think any more about it.

It wasn't the taste that was the problem. The taste was surprisingly… not terrible. But the _texture!_ " Gck…" Donatello nodded urgently, unable to keep the grimace from his face as he finished chewing and finally managed to swallowed the vile thing. "So-ooo crunchy," he groaned in a higher voice, trying his damnedest to make it sound positive.

"Yes! Perhaps now you will be feeling better soon." The large alien slapped him on the back and passed him a canteen, which Don took gratefully.

He spluttered in surprise when liquid fire hit the back of his throat. "This is liquor," he choked.

"The finest _jaela,_ " the alien agreed, bobbing his head happily. He had a strange way of nodding, as much back and forth as up and down, as if to maximize the movement of his dangling appendages. It was actually more of a bobble than a bob.

Donatello peered into the canteen, impressed. "This… actually tastes pretty good," he remarked as he handed it back. "Once you get past the burning."

"My sister brews it! She has a stall at the market further down the queen's road, across the river."

"I'll have to remember that. Maybe I'll stop by sometime when I'm not, you know…" His olive hands gestured at himself with depreciation, "quite so grimy and destitute."

The neighboring petitioner on his other side, an Omatran elder with a pinched face, muttered derisively under her breath. Don was pretty sure he wouldn't get along very well with this woman even if she was wearing a universal translator. She seemed to be quite mean. Even now her words caused his new friend to widen his eyes with injury and spit an angry retort in her language.

"What's she saying?" Don wondered, looking back at her.

"She tells me _jaela_ is a barbarian's drink, and not the drink of a true warrior!" his yellow friend huffed indignantly, jowls quivering.

That actually didn't sound as bad as what Don had been imagining. " _Are_ you a warrior?" he wondered with faint amusement.

His yellow friend took a healthy swig from the canteen before passing it back to the turtle. "Well, no," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm a merchant. But certainly no _barbarian!_ "

"I wouldn't take it too seriously," Don grinned at him over the lip of the canteen before taking another drink and handing it back. In spite of the way it kicked his throat, the flavor that lingered on his tongue was amazing. Maybe it was just that he had been surviving for too long on water, instant oatmeal, and protein bars. "I'm a warrior, and I think it's great! Anyway, that particular insult is pretty funny coming from a woman who spent the last twenty minutes _licking herself in public_."

The large alien widened his eyes, then glanced around as if concerned that this comment would be overheard by the wrong person. Then he leaned in closer to advise hastily, "I'd be careful with that particular criticism around these parts, friend. They _all_ do that! It's how they groom – one of many ways. They're quite concerned with grooming…" He dropped his voice further to add conspiratorially, "To be honest, I find it rather odd myself. Apparently these Omatrans have very scratchy tongues!"

The turtle's mouth dropped open. A prickling heat spread quickly across his face in what could only be a helpless blush. "Oh. Yes, I…" He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes, concluding softly, "I see."

The truth was that Donatello remembered Jhanna's scratchy tongue. He remembered it _very_ _well._ So many lonely nights he had spent… remembering.

Some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face. The alien's chuckle was quiet and sympathetic as he extended the _jaela._

Don accepted it distractedly but seemed to change his mind as he went to take a drink. He shook his head and held it back. "No… Better not. I want to have a clear head when it's my turn to see the queen."

The chuckle became a hearty laugh. "Haven't you been paying attention, little shellback? We aren't seeing the queen today."

Don's brow pinched. "What do you mean? We're finally near the front of the line! There's only…" His gaze began to skim the line of petitioners, counting heads anxiously.

A large yellow hand clamped on his shoulder and squeezed. "The greater sun is past its apex. This line would have started moving by now, if it were going to move at all. Her Majesty must not be seeing petitioners today."

"What?" So much for serenity. Donatello was unable to hide his dismay. "Why? Why wouldn't she…"

"There are many reasons I can think of," the merchant gave another of his rolling shrugs. "Important duties could have called her from the castle. Perhaps she simply needed a day off, and don't we all sometimes? Do not fret. She is a good queen – a fair queen. If you have need of her, you will be seen in time."

"Oh… I have need of her, all right." The terrapin mumbled, letting his gaze travel up the shining spires of Jhanna's palace. He hefted the canteen and drank again, perhaps too deeply. He was coughing as he handed it back, and there was a wheeze in his voice as he finally thought to say, "My name is Donatello, by the way."

"Glorpek," the yellow man returned with a smile.

And that was how Donatello wound up completely wasted in the middle of the day, leaning on the shoulder of an alien named Glorpek, swapping stories, drawing maps and star charts in the dirt, and learning the songs of his people.


	3. Part 2

**PART TWO**

"Ka-leck a Lolly oh! Lolly malla, matte yoh!" Donatello sang with more gusto than skill. Michelangelo would have been proud of him.

Glorpek was laughing at him even as he continued to clap out a beat. Don knew his pronunciation was wretched, but the alien was letting it slide for the most part. He seemed to be impressed by the turtle's short term memory retention, which was pretty good even when he was plastered.

"Akea -ta , kejah sha-mo! Lolly malla, matte yoh!"

"Beautiful. Tears are hanging in my eyes at this beautiful music," the alien insisted, his dark eyes twinkling in a way that undermined his sincerity.

"Pffft," Don waved a dismissive hand. "I think I did pretty okay, considering I have no clue what I'm even singing."

The merchant guffawed heartily. "Your turn, minstrel. Teach me a song from your planet Earth."

"Um," Donatello brushed away an insect that tried to land on him and thought about it. "So… we're going to have to narrow it down a bit, 'cause there are a lot. What kinda song did you want to hear?"

"Aren't there some you favor more than the others?" Glorpek wondered.

"Well… _yeah_ ," Don allowed. Amusement pulled his mouth up at one corner as he tried to imagine performing a song by Skrillex or the Glitch Mob, a cappella, right here in the line of petitioners. He tried to convey his dilemma. "A lot of my favorite tracks, they're not exactly… _singing_ kinda songs. I would need, like – a digital audio system?" The half-grin broadened into a full one. "Not to mention, a bunch of skills that I just don't have."

The yellow alien gave a lazy shrug. "A song of love, then! 'Lolly Malla' is a such a song. You sang it well enough."

"A love song, huh?" Donatello scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. There weren't many love songs on his MP3 player, so it came as a surprise to him when one sprung to mind almost immediately. It was an old song. He didn't even know all the words, but decided it wouldn't matter. Glorpek wouldn't know the difference if he just sang the part he remembered. "Okay, I got one," he announced before he could lose his nerve.

His new friend bobbled his head and gestured with both hands to indicate Don should begin.

The turtle couldn't recapture the playful boldness he had managed earlier. It was harder now that the words didn't sound like nonsense. He sang softly and shyly, gazing off towards distant buildings without seeing them.

 _First class and fancy free  
She's high society  
She's got the best of everything_

 _What could a guy like me  
Ever really offer?  
She's perfect as she can be  
Why should I even bother?_

' _Cause she's so high_ _  
High above me, she's so lovely  
She's so high  
Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite  
She's so high_ _  
High above me_

Donatello halted there, sooner than he had intended. He thought he knew the next part as well, but found himself unable to go on. "There's more. I just, I can't." He closed his eyes and his hands flew up to partially conceal his face. "Sorry. That was awful."

"No," Glorpek countered, "that was better."

"Seriously?" Don mumbled, peeking through his fingers.

"You aren't destined to sing for coin at the White Pavilion," the alien smiled wisely. "But there was _honesty_ in this song." He hesitated, then leaned forward and guessed in a gentler tone, "Tell me, friend – I've seen the longing on your face at times when you gaze up at the palace. Are you petitioning the queen for the right to take a mate above your legal station?"

Donatello looked back at his companion quickly, his eyes widening as he thought about it. "I guess so," he nodded slowly and a chill ran over his skin. "Yeah, I probably am."

Glorpek made that clicking sound again and was quick to reassure him, "Don't despair! Are you not aware that the queen herself was low-born? It was only through successful trial by combat that was she elevated to nobility. Already Queen Jhanna has brought about much-needed changes, secured many rights for commoners – even those from foreign worlds like you and I. She nullified as many unfair, caste-based restrictions as she could manage without jeopardizing her seat on the throne. I believe she would have preferred to abolish the castes which divide her people completely. Sadly, there are many powerful factions who honor the old ways and feel well-served by them. They would quickly rise against her, and more than likely overthrow her, if she were to do this. You are lucky the queen who served before her is no longer in power. You will find sympathy with Queen Jhanna, I am sure of it."

 _As if I didn't already have enough reasons to love this woman,_ Donatello thought with a sigh. He smiled wearily and gave a single nod. "I'll keep it in mind. No matter what, I've got to try at this point. I've come too far to do anything else!"

"You show a fine spirit," Glorpek approved. He unstopped the jug he had been using to refill the canteen – or was it a second jug? At some point, Don had stopped paying attention. "What was that line, near the end? Cleopatta, Joana Fark, and – something else? None of it translated."

"Oh. That makes sense," Don murmured. He was eyeing the jug uncertainly, not sure if he wanted more. He wasn't the lightweight that he had once been, but the act of singing that last song had been rather sobering. It had been enough to reawaken that annoying inner voice of reason, which sometimes liked to pace in the back of his head and nag incessantly. Right now it was babbling something about dehydration and situational awareness and how much it would suck to throw up and lose the hard-won protein and nutrients, which had been awful to consume in the first place. "They're proper names," he went on to explain, talking over his stupid brain with determination. "Historical and mythical figures from Earth, actually. Cleopatra refers to Cleopatra the Seventh, a queen who ruled for several decades during ancient times, and still considered one of Earth's most famous female rulers. She's said to have been highly intelligent, a shrewd negotiator, and charming to the point of entrancing. Whether or not she was a great beauty is the subject of some debate, but some of the most powerful men in the world at the time were rivals for her affection. Umm… Joan of Arc was a peasant girl who became a war leader for the country of France a long time ago. She claimed to hear the voice of God, and was elevated to sainthood by one of our most powerful churches. She's still celebrated as the national heroine of France to this day. And Aphrodite, she was an ancient goddess of love and beauty. That's – um. That's all I really know about her."

That wasn't all he knew about Aphrodite, but Donatello had recognized by this point that he was over-explaining. He peeked over at his alien companion, braced for the usual reaction of glazed-over boredom or discomfort. Glorpek was watching him patiently. "Not a just a warrior and minstrel, then," he observed with a touch of amusement. "You are also a scholar!"

"Something like that," Don grumbled with a downward glance, not sure if he was being teased.

"Donatello, please allow me to give you some well-intended advice. Vanity is a flaw which I find to be very common to the Omatran people. If you were to speak such flattery in private to your lady love, it would likely be well received. However, to utter such high and flowering praises of _another woman_ when you stand before our queen – to imply that your lady is a greater warrior, a queen herself, or even a goddess – a station _higher_ than that of Her Majesty? Ah, surely you can see how this would be highly inappropriate, perhaps even gravely insulting. You must take care to show the proper reverence."

"I do appreciate that, Glorpek." Now it was Donatello's turn to wear a mysterious smile. "In my case, though… I don't think showing reverence will be an issue."

"Of course. Forgive me. You are extremely well mannered," the alien allowed, tilting his head to make the fleshy pendulums dance. "I am sure you will know what to say."

"I've got sort of a running script in my head, with lots of branching variables based on how she might respond…" Don flinched. It was the truth, but admitting it out loud made him feel pretty lame. He added quietly, with contempt that was turned inward, "I'd probably feel more confident if I could stop myself from making revisions every half hour or so."

"Oh, my friend… It is normal to be nervous about meeting royalty! Do you think everyone in this line does not feel the same?"

"Hopefully not _just_ the same," Don mumbled wryly under his breath, letting his eyes scan the long line of petitioners. "That would be pretty awkward."

"What I mean is, we all carry trepidation," Glorpek clarified with a slight frown. "And there is no shame in it. But your chances are good, I think. You brought your token, I presume?"

Donatello's brow furrowed. "My what?" He had done some research, of course, before joining the line of petitioners. The language barrier had been an issue at times, but he had gathered as much information as he had been able to find about the proper etiquette to use when addressing a queen. He knew just how to bow, when to speak, but no one had ever mentioned bringing her a gift!

"Your token, shellback. The token given to you by your lady love." As the terrapin continued to stare blankly, the yellow alien covered his mouth briefly, stroked his hand over the topmost of his chins, and finally dropped it back into his lap. "Not good. She should have given you a token. If she holds a high office, she is probably affiliated with one of the older families. It is probably an object marked with her family's glyph, something of personal significance. The more personal the better."

A terrible twisting had begun in the turtle's stomach. He reached for the canteen sitting between them and took a long pull from it to steady his fluttering nerves. Setting it back down between them, he brushed the back of his hand across his mouth and confessed, "She never gave me anything with glyphs on it."

"And yet she holds a high position? Lives in this palace?"

"Yes," Don replied softly.

"Oh, Donatello," the alien spoke slowly now, and with deep sympathy. "If you did not receive her token… the two of you had a sexual encounter, I presume?"

"We did," he admitted, even quieter. He closed his eyes and could still see her blue luminous skin moving against his, and the way her eyes could catch the moonlight and glow like silver beacons in the darkness.

"My friend…" Glorpek clicked unhappily and set his massive hand on Donatello's arm. "I am so sorry! But it is every Omatran woman's right to share her body with whom she pleases. Their ways can be confusing to those of us who automatically equate such intimacy with emotional attachments or romantic commitment. It is neither uncommon nor shameful for an Omatran woman to take a mate for one night only – for no other reason than her desire to be pleasured. If a token is given, it represents her consent to be pursued for a more meaningful romance. It is up to the one receiving the token to decide if he or she has both the means and the desire to pursue her. But if she left you with nothing…"

Donatello had been gazing down at his hands, his back bowed by the terrible weight of his growing dejection. Suddenly his head shot up and his posture straightened. He whirled to look at Glorpek, his eyes alight with a wild and desperate hope. "She did. She _did_ leave me with something."

The hope was contagious, though the yellow alien did a better job of keeping his in check. "Well! What are you waiting for, shellback? Bring it out! Before we celebrate, let me tell you if it seems you have a proper token."

The terrapin fumbled through his traveling pack, shoving and yanking his way through the carefully stowed items, even tossing some precious supplies into the dirt at his feet in his haste. The small bundle he sought was near at the bottom of the bag, he knew. It was not a useful or practical item, certainly nothing he needed to take out on a daily or even monthly basis. But it was treasured by him, just the same.

At last, Donatello's hand closed around the light-weight, waterproof material in which he knew it was wrapped. He brought the bundle out with care and carried it with him, sitting down cross-legged in the dirt across from Glorpek. He reverently unwound the waterproof outer wrapping and removed the sentimental item within. The large alien leaned in for a better look.

The dark blue dreadlocks had been wrapped at the severed end in strips of soft, buttery lambskin which kept them together and protected them from unraveling. The small, tidy stitches as well as the pattern of the wrap itself were the same method he used to secure a leather grip to a bo staff. The lambskin wrap and the shorn ropes of hair were almost two decades old; both would have been fragile and brittle with age, if not for the oil treatments he had been applying to both on a regular basis. As it was, the thick blue dreads were almost as soft and supple as they had been sliding over her hard cerulean shoulder-blades on the night they had shared so long ago.

He lifted the precious bundle and brought it closer to his face. Logically he knew that there was no way her smell could remain on them after so many years. But he had been at this ritual for so long now that just the act of bowing over them could fill his head with her bouquet of spice and soap and sweat, the exotic scent of a beautiful alien warrior that would linger in his memories forever.

Donatello breathed out a slow exhale. His eyes opened and darted up to check Glorpek's reaction, squinting a bit with fresh tension. "There are no glyphs," he said again, in case it somehow wasn't obvious. "There are beads worked onto the end of a few of the dreads… but no glyphs on those, either. I'd have noticed."

Glorpek's eyes were wide now, larger than Don had known them capable of becoming. His broad mouth worked helplessly until he finally spluttered, "Glyphs! Forget about glyphs, my friend! Family glyphs are purposefully complicated to make forgery difficult, but it can still be done. This, however! Scholar, don't you see what this contains? Don't you realize the indisputable proof you are holding?"

It took him a moment. He was half drunk and still thinking in terms of the physical. He considered the composition of the six small beads – two of glass, one of gold, three of clay, one of which appeared to be hand-painted. He had long ago memorized the shape and weight of each. There was also the single metal clasp capping a dread trapped in the middle of the bundle. It was the clasp he considered longest. It had intrigued him for years for being composed of some alien metal, an alloy of substances that could not be found on the periodic table of elements. But even if it contained an element that was unique to her planet, that still wouldn't necessarily prove—

It hit him all at once. He gasped audibly and whispered, "The hair itself. The hair contains her DNA."

"Yes! This is not just any token, friend. She has given you a token which _can never be refuted."_

Donatello's throat clamped and his vision blurred with sudden tears of joy and relief. It had not been just another night of empty pleasure. His was not a mad quest, after all. She had welcomed him to come and find her.

"I feel as though I have seen these locks many times before. Never up close, but in paintings, photographs in articles, news feeds on the DataBank vid-screens…" Glorpek tilted his head and looked up, his eyes as large as a pair of moons. "And your planet is called Earth! It's been bothering me all morning, but now I remember where I have heard that name before! Donatello… do you really have the token of our queen?"

Still overcome with emotion, the turtle could only nod.

Glorpek's broad face broke open with a smile of the purest amazement. "Stars above! What are you waiting in this line for?" He snatched up the bundle of hair in one hand and clamped the other onto the terrapin's leather-bound wrist. Donatello barely had time to snag the strap of his pack and get it over one shoulder before he was dragged up and forced to stumble forward in the alien's wake. "MAKE A PATH!" He bellowed, waving the hair like a banner before them. "LET HIM THROUGH!" Miraculously, the thick knot of people crowding the palace gates moved aside to make way for them.

"What are you doing?" Don croaked, finally finding his voice. He glanced back in dismay at the supplies he had dropped and was now being forced to leave behind. "Glorpek! We've got to go back! You'll lose your place in line!"

"Forget about that! My trade dispute has been ongoing for many rotations of the moon. What matter is another few days?" He had paused to say all this, but now he was hauling them forward once more. He glanced back at Donatello and laughed, "This soft heart of mine loves a good romance, if you haven't noticed. Now, come!" He marched right up to the barred gate and pounded his fist on it. "LET HIM THROUGH, I SAY!" He raised the turtle's arm as high as it would go without lifting him off the ground and hollered, "THIS ONE IS NO PETITIONER! HE IS FAVORED BY THE QUEEN!"


	4. Part 3

**PART THREE**

Donatello was seized roughly by guards in heavy mechanized suits. They asked questions and barked orders in a way that made the musical language of the Omatran sound very intimidating. It was a difficult language to begin with, and though he had been working hard to increase his small vocabulary of useful words and phrases, understanding the flurry of commands coming at him in such a chaotic situation was proving impossible. He shook his head helplessly and touched his throat, trying to convey his incomprehension. The turtle looked around for his alien friend, but Glorpek was already being escorted away in the direction they had come. He had lost his place among the petitioners, as Don had suspected he would. It looked as though the guards would be kind enough to let him retrieve his cart of belongings before sending him back to the end of the line.

A smaller Omatran woman emerged from the guardhouse. Her pale blue-green hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and she wore a long grey coat and a fascinating eye-piece that immediately set her apart from the brute squad of mecha she-hulks which had apprehended him. Donatello knew that many generations of selective breeding had created distinct factions within Omatran society, and this new woman had the distinct look of a scientist or medic.

"Kesu, ma chia naravo, paya," she said coolly. Apparently that meant 'rip his arms nearly out of his sockets', because that's what the guards proceeded to do. Donatello cried out and thrashed instinctively but could not budge an inch as the woman with the eye scope approached holding a slim silver device in one hand. She activated the device, causing red gems on the end of it to glow, and swiped it twice across the turtle's brow before stepping away again.

Once she was out of arm's reach, the guards relaxed their grip considerably. Donatello watched the Omatran aim the silver device at a slender collar around her neck. He'd already worked out what the device was, and was not surprised when she began to speak English fluently. "There we are. Hello, Earthling. And such a curious specimen! Not exactly a _common_ _homo sapien_ , are you?"

"Nice to meet you too," the terrapin managed through gritted teeth – though, so far, it hadn't been nice at all. Still, Donatello was determined to be polite to Jhanna's people.

"And you claim to have a token from our beloved queen?"

"Until very recently, yeah," the restrained turtle grumbled, casting a dark look towards one of the guards.

"Zula," the guard supplied, stepping forward and holding out the bundle of dreadlocks in her armored glove.

"Excellent. Of course, we shall need to test it for authenticity before we inform Her Majesty. And if we find that you have lied about this, I shall very much enjoy dissecting you." She flashed her slightly pointed canines at him in what was not a friendly smile.

"Fine," Donatello growled, unwilling to be intimidated. "But your method of testing won't destroy the token, right? It's very precious to me."

The Omatran scientist pursed her lips and tilted her head, like she were cataloging an interesting reaction. "If all goes well, it shall be returned to you. I will see to it. Suns light your path, Earthling." She turned to the guards and spoke to them in her own language. Her precise way of speaking was easier for him to follow than most of the natives he had met. The guards were to take him to the… _something_ room and were ordered to wait outside the door.

Donatello kept his head up and tried his best to presume he was being escorted someplace reasonable, like a waiting room or some kind of audience chamber. He rather hoped it wasn't the _interrogation_ room, or the _torture_ room, but the possibility did not fail to cross his mind. The six armored guards were silent and professional, steadfastly ignoring his few clumsy efforts to make small talk in their language.

Shunned by his captors, Don instead let his gaze roam the graceful archways and subtle opulence of the palace interior. Whoever designed this place had been determined to avoid the sensibility and economy of straight lines and right angles. The palace itself was like a woman, he realized, composed entirely of lovely slants and curves.

The juxtaposition of advanced technology and ancient traditions held a particular fascination for him, but every time he paused to study a glowing control panel set in the wall or dragged his feet to peer into rooms containing mysterious electronics, the guards would scowl and prod him with the butt of a weapon to keep him moving. He tried to look less interested after that, and wished he had the right words to insist that he was not a thief scoping out targets, just a huge nerd.

As they walked, they began to pass members of Jhanna's court. He had encountered Omatrans before during his visits to Federation planets, and they almost always struck him as beautiful. But those paled in comparison to the exquisite creatures who lounged and socialized in the halls of the palace. Inevitably they would halt their conversations to watch him pass, then start speaking again in hushed and hurried tones. He was surprised at the extremely risqué fashion choices favored by the nobility. Their clothing – if transparent wraps and robes, shimmering loincloths, and jeweled neckwear counted as clothing – was not overly concerned with concealment. For quite a few years now Donatello had dared to consider himself worldly and more open-minded to strange, new experiences than any of his brothers. If they could only see him now, stumbling over his own feet in surprise and wearing a semi-permanent blush. He had to fix his gaze firmly on the guard in front of him in an effort to keep his face from darkening further.

Once Don and his entourage had reached their intended destination, a guard held a door open and gestured that he should enter. He stepped inside and was caught flat-footed once again. It was not a torture room nor an audience chamber – it was an indoor pool. He shouldered off his pack and set it down near the entrance, then ventured further inside to study the room in confusion.

Coming in further, he took in more details that lead him to reassess his initial guess. He saw several floor to ceiling mirrors, alcoves holding soft folded towels, bins with various combs, blades, and other accessories. So it was not a pool after all, but a bathroom. A room for bathing, anyway, as there were no toilets anywhere to be seen. The tiered pools were lined with a substance that looked like marble, pure white shot with veins of silver and grey, and silky to the touch. Hanging plants spilled lushly from containers set high on the wall and many waterfalls cascaded from a series of tiered surfaces to pour into the basins, filling the air with the serene murmur of falling water. Natural light spilled down from somewhere high above him, and the air was hazy and surreal with rising steam.

As Donatello descended the shallow stairs to approach the water, something Glorpek had said earlier returned to him: _They're quite concerned with grooming._ Donatello glanced down to consider himself with a more critical eye than usual and noted the dust and dirt which streaked his calves, his ankles, and caked between his toes. He craned his neck over one shoulder and saw that the grooves on his lower shell were also packed with grime. _Fair enough, then._ It had been a very long time since he'd had the opportunity for a proper bath.

The turtle stripped off his mask and leathers and set them on the edge of the largest pool. He waded in to his waist and then dove to submerge himself completely. The heat sunk into his skin and quickly began to work magic on his sore and weary muscles. It was heavenly.

He only stayed under for a couple minutes, not long at all by his standards. Fantastic lung capacity was one benefit to being a mutant turtle. When he did break the surface, Donatello was nearly startled out of his skin by the sight of two scantily clad young men crouched at the edge of the pool, peering at him with wide-eyed alarm. The length of time he'd spent underwater must have worried them. "It's okay! I'm fine," he assured them with a smile.

Their concern melted quickly into friendly relief and they gave him a synchronized, subservient bow. A dark-haired boy with purple lips had a wide-brimmed basket and they set it between them and began going through it and speaking in their own language. Don looked at them, unsure at first whether or not they were talking to him. It was apparent after a moment or two that they were conversing with one another. He watched the pair curiously as they debated and decided upon tiny bottles and jars of cream. The young man with pale blue hair and silver lips had absently taken a comb from the basket, and the other had snatched it out of his hand and tossed it back in. He gestured sharply Donatello and seemed to laugh briefly at the other's stupidity. He selected a more appropriate brush with abrasive, wiry bristles and handed his associate that one instead. By now Donatello's friendliness had shifted towards extreme wariness as he realized that these were NOT fellow bathers. These were bath attendants or spa workers or something, and all these cosmetics and tools they were fussing over were likely meant for him.

He tried to protest, tried to explain that he was perfectly capable of washing himself, but these attendants took their job very seriously and could not be reasoned with. They tsked and continued to banter throughout his attempts to politely dodge their efforts, and kept babbling some explanation but the only word he could understand was 'queen'. The blue-skinned young men were so patient and playful in spite of his increasing grumpiness that Donatello finally gave up and decided it would be faster just to let them have their way with him. The moment they had broken him, the pair seemed to sense it and quickly descended in a flurry of soaps and moisturizers and exfoliating scrubs and other products the turtle could not begin to identify.

Donatello endured his beautification stoically. Their careful scrubbing and polishing of his shell actually felt pretty amazing, but he wasn't about to let it show. They nudged him out of the water and made him sit on the steps while one did mysterious things to his feet and ankles. Don had given up trying to comprehend his mandatory spa treatments. He was relieved when they seemed to be winding down. The dark haired boy stepped back and was looking him over, giving small nods of approval. When the attendant with silver lips held up a thin black stick and made a gesture indicating he wanted to line Donatello's eyes with it, that was the last straw. He exploded in a string of curses and feigned a lunge that made the young Omatrans put their hands up and retreat. Their laughter could be heard echoing off the curved walls as they fled.

The turtle considered his reflection in one of the mirrors after they had gone. He looked clean, but otherwise not so different than usual. Then again, he was not overly concerned with grooming, so maybe that was why he could not detect much of a change. He started to walk away, but glanced back at his profile and was surprised to note that whatever they had done to his shell looked pretty awesome. He turned around completely and viewed the mirror from over one shoulder. His carapace was dark and glossy, coated with something that helped the light to catch on every whorl and groove.

Donatello was surprised to find his leathers and mask had both been cleaned and coiled neatly into rolls. He glanced around but could see no one lurking in the shadows of the bathhouse. Granted, he had been fairly distracted with trying not to murder the over-eager bath boys. Donatello unraveled the items and put them on, all the while puzzling over how they had managed to clean and dry his gear in such a short amount of time. It was easier to focus on the wonders of Omatran laundering technology than the fact that he was going to be face to face with Jhanna soon.

He stepped outside and was not surprised to see the contingent of guards still standing there, exactly as he had left them. Donatello greeted them pleasantly and did not receive an answer. It was exactly the response he had come to expect from them. He did catch one of the guards glancing him over and giving his improved hygiene a slight nod that might have been approval.

They began marching. This time he did not pass any of the Omatran nobility, just a handful of servants hurrying to and fro. Donatello wondered if maybe they had been called away to a council meeting or some other important business. He knew better than to try and ask the all-babe mecha brute squad where everyone had gone.

In moments he would have his answer. A huge and elaborately carved set of double doors swung open as they approached it. The guards stepped aside, falling into formation just outside the entrance to the throne room.

Donatello froze in the frame of the doorway and his heart leapt into his throat.

There she was.

They looked at one another across the huge length of throne room. The dance of planets in their orbit and all the wheeling stars seemed to shudder and fall still. Silence struck the room like a terrible gong.

Great feeling rose up in him suddenly, like a wildfire trying to exit his body. He wanted to run to her. He very nearly ran to her, but somehow managed to retain what he had learned of Omatran etiquette.

He dropped his eyes with great difficulty. She was so powerful and lovely and something in her face had been shining like a beacon on the edge of a vast dark sea. But it was wrong to look at her. He didn't have permission yet.

Donatello walked slowly, calmly, and with slinking grace. He kept his gaze trained on the ground in front of him.

They were all here, he realized – all the people he had passed earlier, and more besides. They were lining the great hall, intent on watching the spectacle of a stranger from the battleground of Earth showing up after so many years with a token from their queen.

He ignored them, pretended not to see them. He moved slowly, calmly, gracefully, towards the only woman who mattered. Hundreds of lovely, cat-shaped eyes tracked his progress.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally he reached the end of the expensive carpet. He fell to his knees and curled forward, setting his elbows on the ground, palms up and extending his arms towards her. "My Queen," he said in her language, speaking more softly than he had intended. Luckily the acoustics in the room were excellent and his hushed words were still able to reach her.

"Donatello," she said, and the unexpected warmth in her voice steeled his courage.

In addressing him, she had given permission for him to look upon her. He remained on his knees but slowly sat back on his heels and lifted his head to take in the vision before him. Donatello considered her new maturity and poise and thought her more beautiful than ever.

"How long did you travel to reach this planet?" she wondered.

"Two years and seven months, Your Majesty. Roughly thirteen million light years."

"Councilor Kaleni's people tell me that you spent many days waiting among the petitioners." The hint of a smile toyed at the corners of her dark blue lips. "Is that what brings you here? You have come all this way to bring me a petition?"

She was speaking to him in English, so he followed her lead and reverted to his native tongue. "My Queen, I come bearing your token." He should have stopped there, but more words tumbled out of him. "And failing that, then… then, _yes._ I do petition you." _Great_ ,he thought with a surge of panic. _Way_ _off-script already._

Queen Jhanna narrowed her eyes and leaned forward with intrigue. "Explain yourself."

"I brought your token," Donatello began. "And I would have come with it sooner if I'd understood what it meant. But really, I came because… ever since we met, I've been unable to forget you. I'm pretty sure that I'm in love with you." He swallowed hard, glancing down and then up again. "And I don't know if there's a time limit on tokens. I don't know if I am worthy. Maybe you are promised to another by now, or your feelings for me may have changed. And if that's how it is, then… I petition you." His voice crept higher with emotion. "Let me serve you. Please, My Queen. I will do anything, be anything that you require. Just let me be near you. It would be enough."

The turtle bowed his head and waited. He didn't dare lift his eyes, but his heart began to thunder as he heard her rise from the throne and step down off the royal dais.

Her flowing gown whispered over her calves as she approached. A gentle hand touched his head. "Rise, Favored One," she said. "Rise and be mine."

Donatello looked up into her shining eyes and watched her mouth form a radiant smile. Her hands stretched towards him. Surging to his feet, he wrapped her in his arms.

* * *

 _Disclaimer: I don't own the Donatello or any other Ninja Turtle. The lyrics which appeared in this fanfic are "She's So High" by Tal Bachman. It's a great song which is also not owned by me. No money was made off this fanfic. Also there's no point in trying to sue me because right now I am pretty broke._

 _Author's Note: I wrote this fic for_ _turtle-sketches who said she was dying for some more Jhannatello. I had no idea it would take so long or turn into such a massive undertaking, so thanks for your patience. I also want to thank_ _gladrial01 and pointlessquotehere for looking over my early drafts and showing me such support. Finally, apologies to everyone I ignored or neglected while this fic was being written. Please remember that I still love you, even when TMNT fanfics have consumed me._


End file.
